


He Will Tear Your City Down

by AlexBarton



Series: Daughter of Oaks [1]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Amrod dies at Losgar canon, Canonical Character Death, Don't copy to another site, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kinslaying, M/M, Nirnaeth Arnoediad, OC pretends to be Fingon's wife, Post-Nirnaeth Arnoediad, Post-Rescue from Thangorodrim, Suicide, Third Kinslaying, War of Wrath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2020-08-20 11:48:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20227363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexBarton/pseuds/AlexBarton
Summary: Doronil is the Commander of Fingon's scouts. She was married. She pretends to be Fingon's wife. She survives the Nirnaeth and stays with Maedhros.A look at Maedhros across the First Age from the eyes of someone else.More specific warnings at the beginnings of each chapter.





	1. FA 5: Post-Rescue from Thangorodrim

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [anthem for doomed youth](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20198491) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account). 

> Title from "Soldier, Poet, King" by The Oh Hellos  
(the song reminds me so much of Maedhros and Maglor, seriously go listen to it and/or read the lyrics)  
\---  
Doronil's father was a follower of Nolofinwë back in Tirion. She grew up with Aredhel and they are like sisters to each other.
> 
> Nordonil (Quenya) = Doronil (Sindarin) = lady of the oak tree
> 
> I'm using a mix of Sindarin and Quenya because Quenya hadn't been banned at that point, but the Noldor would have needed to learn Sindarin to converse with the Sindar living around Lake Mithrim.

“Do you not find him pleasing?”

She smiled and looked down for a moment, then turned to look Maedhros in the eye. “My lord, indeed he is pleasing to look at, but I doubt he could please me, nor I him.”

Maedhros raised an eyebrow, but before he could inquire about the meaning of her words, Fingon returned with his father.

Once the door was locked, Fingon took a deep breath and looked around the room. “Atya, now that we have reunited, Russo and I intend to get married.

Fingolfin raised both eyebrows. “I wish to see both of you happy, but you know that there will be objections. Maedhros has just abdicated, for one. And you, as my heir, will need to provide an heir.”

“He can foster a child and name them as heir, or the title can pass to Itarillë, or another child of Turukáno’s or Írissë’s,” Maedhros pointed out.

“That is true,” Fingolfin conceded, “But there is still the matter that people will accuse you of being swayed by Maedhros, and that his abdication was merely a ploy to placate the people. The Helcaraxë was not so long ago, and Alqualondë just before that.”

Fingon spoke again, “I have been talking with Doronil. Atya, I know that I cannot be with Russo publicly, but I think I might have a way around that.”

Fingolfin inclined his head for Fingon to continue.

“Doronil has agreed to pretend to be my wife. She saved my life on the Helcaraxë, you know this Atya, and I trust her.”

“I would have thought you would be in Vinyamar with my daughter, Nordonil. Why have you stayed in Dor-lómin?”

She inclined her head to Fingolfin respectfully. “Indeed, my king, Írissë is like a sister to me, but I have pledged my service to Findekáno. Where he goes, I go.”

Fingolfin touched his chin thoughtfully. “This could work. It is well known that you saved my son on the Ice. But what of your desires, child? You and Írissë were never satisfied at court in Tirion, the pair of you always out hunting with Tyelkormo. I worry that you will be unhappy.”

Doronil’s eyes tightened slightly at the mention of their third hunting companion, then her face smoothed out into its usual mask. 

“I am Commander of Findekáno’s scouts. I will be gone from the castle for extended periods of time, but I have captains who can manage the longer excursions if I must make more appearances in court. Everyone knows that I have pledged to protect Findekáno; pretending to be married to him will not change that.”

Fingolfin nodded. “Very well. I give my consent. But no one outside this room is to know of this, not even Turukáno or Írissë.”

Doronil placed her hand over her heart and bowed to Fingolfin as he left the room.

“I will go have the smiths make you a circlet, Dor. I think brass will go well with your hair, and it should hold up well while you are scouting.”

She just shrugged. “Whatever you think is best Káno; I know nothing of smith-craft.”

Fingon kissed Maedhros on the forehead, then left the pair in the room, hurrying after his father.

Maedhros turned to Doronil. “How did you and Finno come to this... arrangement?”

“Few here know me well. I lived with my wife away from Tirion. They will only see that I am married, that Káno is also married, and that we spend much of our time together. They will put two and two together to get five.”

“And your wife? Is she not bothered by this?”

“My wife is dead.”

Maedhros paused. “My apologies. On the Helcaraxë?”

She stilled, not looking at him. "At Alqualondë."

"It is a horrid thing to carry upon one's conscience. I thank you for coming to our defense."

She turned to him then. "What makes you think that I was fighting on your side?"

Maedhros had no answer, and she left the room quickly.


	2. FA 472: Dagor Nirnaeth Arnoediad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiriathrim = a company of scouts

The night before battle was always quiet. It was nearing dawn, the soft tendrils of Arien’s rays creeping into the sky, suffusing the darkness with wisps of blush and gold.

Doronil sat perched in a tree on the southern edge of the treeline, keeping an eye on Fingon and Maedhros planning in the center of camp, when hoofbeats sounded on the path behind her.

She swung down and planted herself in the middle of the path, drawing her bow and whistling to alert the others. 

Two riders came around the bend, and Doronil broke into a wide smile, relaxing her bow when she saw who it was.

“Cúthalion! Mablung!”

She rushed forward as the pair dismounted, grabbing Beleg’s forearm in a warrior’s handshake. She turned to Mablung and did the same.

“Did Elu Thingol change his mind about sending the Doriathrim?”

Beleg exchanged a glance with Mablung before sighing, “No, he has not. Only Mablung and I came from Doriath, and I do not know that we will be enough.”

Maedhros stepped forward. “We welcome any aid of course. I thank you for coming.”

The pair inclined their heads, then Mablung spoke, “We will join your company, Doronil.

She spared a quick glance towards Maedhros, who nodded imperceptibly, then ushered her friends towards her company of scouts.

“We are just about to ride out. We are meeting up with Fingon’s forces at Barad Eithel; Maedhros and Maglor ride back to meet their forces as they come out of the Pass of Aglon. We will attack the Enemy from both sides.”

Fingon rode up at that moment. “Dor, I would speak with you a moment.”

She nodded at Mablung and Beleg, then stepped closer to Fingon’s horse.

“I want you to ride with Maedhros.”

“What? But Káno-”

“No.”

She furrowed her brow in frustration at his obvious dismissal.

“This is not where you and I discuss military strategy, Dor. As your King, this is my command to you. Protect Maedhros.”

She narrowed her eyes, but in the end bowed her head and placed her hand over her heart. “As my King commands,” she ground out.

Fingon rode off through the camp, and Doronil turned back to Beleg and Mablung. 

“Cúthalion. You’ve led a company in battle, will you lead my _ tiriathrim _? I’ve been... reassigned.”

He nodded. They clasped arms again, she nodded to Mablung, and then she climbed astride her horse and rode to inform her company of scouts of the leadership change.

She rode next to Maedhros as they left camp. She met Fingon’s eyes across the clearing, then nodded her head once and wheeled her horse into the trees.

Doronil, Maedhros, and Maglor met with the main body of the Feanorian host and the Easterling men as they entered Ard-galen from Aglon. She watched as the brothers conferred with each other and then split to relay information to their respective cohorts.

Maglor reined in next to her. “You don’t have to look so glum, Doronil. There will still be plenty of _ yrch _for us to kill.”

Doronil threw a look of disgust his way. “You know perfectly well that is not why I am unhappy, Makalaurë. Káno is reckless and there is no one to watch his back. Maedhros has you and the rest of his brothers. It is not only unnecessary for me to be here, it is dangerous as well.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because my king has commanded it, and I will obey. Something you are familiar with, yes?”

Maglor laughed bitterly. “Yes, you could say that.”

She watched as Maedhros rode up. “It’s time to move out.”

* * *

She had run out of arrows long ago, and her twin swords were covered in blood, but she could see Fingon’s forces in the distance. It looked as if Turgon had come forth from his city as well. She scanned the battlefield, finding the white fountain on blue background standard of her brother next to his husband’s golden flower on green background. Somehow they had all gotten their timing wrong. 

Some doubt pricked the back of her mind, but it was soon forgotten. Morgoth’s dragon and the Lord of Balrogs had taken the field. She turned to face them, rallying the elves and men around her. A great cry arose from the men, and she turned to see what the cause for alarm was, a blade narrowly missing her.

Uldor’s men were attacking them? She couldn’t quite process the thought, too busy under the increased onslaught.

She was pulled from her horse, a blade slicing through her thigh. She sliced the head off the man who injured her and whirled around.

Men were pouring from the mountains.

Stab, parry.

Maglor rode down Uldor.

Parry, cut.

Uldor fell.

Stab, cut.

Maedhros called the retreat.

Cut, parry.

Maedhros called the retreat?

Parry, stab.

Maedhros rode up next to her, offering his hand. She sheathed her blades and took it, heaving herself up onto his horse behind him. 

“There’s an extra quiver on the right side,” he shouted back to her, “Take out as many as you can. Azaghâl is covering our retreat.”

She counted the arrows in the quiver. “Why do you have a quiver? You can’t shoot.”

“I’m sure if you take a moment, you’ll notice that this isn’t my horse.”

She didn’t respond, but started firing with a grim determination at any foes in their path.

Finally, they reached the treeline of Dorthonion, and Maedhros reined in his horse. Doronil slipped off and looked across the plains of Ard-galen.

They watched as Glaurung trampled Azaghâl and was in turn wounded by the dwarf. They saw the dragon’s retreat. They saw the dwarves bearing away the body of their fallen king.

And in the distance, they saw Gothmog cleave Fingon’s body, crushing his lifeless form into the ground.

Doronil screamed, doubled over in anguish. She fell to her knees, unbelieving.

In a hazy, almost dream-like state, she saw Turgon’s forces quit the field, his rearguard of Men defending the fens ferociously.

She stayed kneeling on the ground until the horde of orcs started moving their way. She stood, swaying slightly. Only then did she notice the Maedhros had gone deathly pale, hands gripping the reins so tightly that she couldn’t pry his fingers off of them.

“Maedhros,” she began softly, “Maedhros, we have to go.”

She managed to loosen his grip on the reins, and swung herself up behind him again. Taking one last glance at the now-burning battlefield, she coaxed the horse into a canter, heading south. The brothers had agreed that should something go wrong, they would reconvene at Amon Ereb.

* * *

They met up with Maglor in the March, still a full day’s ride from the abandoned fortress at Himring. She left Maedhros in his brother’s care, with the promise that if she had not arrived at Amon Ereb in two weeks, they would not come looking for her.

She rode back towards the constant smoke that lingered over the remains of Ard-galen and Dorthonion.

She left her horse in the ashy treeline and made her way towards where she had last seen Fingon. Under cover of night, she found the battlefield. It was dangerous to move at night when the _ yrch _ travelled, but she could not risk being seen in the sunlight. By day, she hid among the piles of dead elves; by night she moved quickly, searching, hoping that she would not find her brother’s body, or Laurë’s, as well. Finally, after two days she noticed the glint of golden ribbons in braids. She carried the corpse as far as she could, making her way back south to her horse. It took her another three days, but she was finally within the scant shelter of the burnt out forest. 

The _ yrch _ had moved south, burning everything in their path, so she was not as worried about being caught. She set Fingon’s body on half-burned wood gathered from the destroyed trees and cleaned it as best she could. Taking his wedding ring, his golden hair ribbons, and his dagger - the dagger she had gifted him so many years ago - she spoke the prayers of the deceased and lit his pyre. More smoke would go unnoticed from Angband.

“May you find your way to Mandos quickly, Káno.”

When his body and the pyre were naught but ash, she mounted her horse and rode for Amon Ereb without stopping. She arrived as Arien rose on the fifteenth day.

* * *

It had been three weeks since the battle. Doronil had not seen Maedhros since she had arrived, but she was unconcerned. The fortifications were in disrepair, so she had taken it upon herself to organise their repair. She also oversaw the guard rotation and the scouting parties. Occasionally she would speak with Maglor or Caranthir, but for the most part she avoided the brothers.

Two months later, she was summoned to see Maedhros.

She knocked quietly on the door leading to his study, and a tired, “Come in,” came through the door. She entered, then shut the door behind her.

Maedhros was sitting behind his desk, maps and battle plans strewn across the surface.

“Why are you here Doronil?”

She raised an eyebrow. “I was told you wanted to see me.”

He waved his hand. “I meant why are you here in Amon Ereb. Your brother is in Gondolin, if I am not mistaken.”

She moved to the chair across from him and sat. “Ehtelë returned to Gondolin, yes. But I cannot go there.”

“Why not?”

She looked off at a bookshelf, avoiding Maedhros’s eyes. “Káno’s last command to me was to protect you. I could not save him, but I will not disobey him.”

“It is not your fault, Doronil.”

She looked sharply at him. “No? Was I not the commander of his _ tiriathrim _? Was I not one of his personal guards? How then, is it not my fault that he was slain?”

Maedhros sighed. “And was I not the one who created this Union? The one who drew the battle plans? The one who did not see the treachery of Uldor and Ulfang? No, if the blame lies on any of us, it lays on me.”

She was silent, her face blank to conceal what she thought of his statement.

Maedhros sighed again. “Go to Gondolin or the Havens. You have never been one of our followers. You will not be happy here.”

She shook her head. “No. I will stay and protect you, as Káno wished.”

She took out Fingon’s ring and hair ribbons and laid them on Maedhros’s desk.

He reached out almost reverently, stroking the ribbons. “How did you get these?”

“I went back for his body. I spoke the prayers and burned his body so that Gorthaur would not defile it.”

Maedhros picked up the ring and slid it on his finger to rest next to his own wedding ring. “You have my thanks Doronil. If it is your wish to stay, you may do so. I understand that you have organised the guard and our scouts. You may have command of them.”

She nodded her head slightly, then rose to leave. She paused at the door and looked back. “I am truly sorry Maedhros. To lose a bondmate...” she shook her head, then walked out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So obviously Thingol would not deal with the Feanorians, but they must have had some discussion with him about the Union. I would assume that any communication would have to come from Fingon otherwise Thingol would have just ignored it, so Doronil was the one in charge of the negotiations per say. As the "Queen" she would have the authority to negotiate on behalf of Fingon, and there's also the consideration of her stance at Alqualondë (Fingon is smart okay).
> 
> Anywho, Doronil spent quite some time in Doriath and would also become good friends with Beleg and Mablung because they're all scouts/marchwardens/[insert rank here].


	3. FA 538: The Third Kinslaying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Laitar belongs to finweans and theoreticlove (and is the most precious bean ever - I love them so much you don't even sno) but this fic isn't necessarily within the universe they have built, I'm just borrowing from their sandbox.
> 
> Go check out "anthem for doomed youth" by finweans to understand what's going on from Laitar's perspective, and also "the sunset glows" series by theoretic love.
> 
> Kisses to you both for being amazing <3

Maedhros had questioned why she was coming with them. 

_ “You saw Menegroth.” _

_ “I did. And I swore to protect you, even if that means protecting you from yourself.” _

_ Maedhros had waved a weary hand. “Very well, go treat with Elwing. Perhaps bloodshed can still be avoided. _

She had ridden ahead of the main host to Sirion, hoping against hope that reason would prevail.

It didn’t.

Elwing was determined to hold onto the damned jewel, though she recognised the danger it would bring. Instead, she asked Doronil to take her twin sons out of the city so that they might be spared of what would come.

Doronil had snuck them out, leaving them in a cave near a waterfall with strict instructions to stay hidden. Then, she ran back to the city.

Her brother’s child had survived the Fall of Gondolin and had taken refuge in the Havens. Though she did not know what Laitar looked like, she tore through the city, frantically looking for an elf that would bear the sigil of her brother’s house.

She was too late. 

In the distance, she saw Elwing jump into the ocean, only for a swan to rise and fly to the west.

She was too late.

She found Maedhros and Maglor clutching the body of Amras.

She was too late.

Behind them, she sees a young elf, the golden flower and silver fountain embroidered on their tunic. She screams with anguish, falling to her knees, cradling the body of her brother’s child. 

“No, Laitar, no.” 

She rocks back and forth, holding their body, tears streaming down her face. “I have failed you as well, precious child.”

She sits there until the pale rays of Arien’s light start creeping into the sky. Numbly, she arranges Laitar’s body and cleans it as best she can. The few survivors and those that arrive from Balar help her build pyres for the dead. Once more in her long life, she says the prayers of the deceased over the body of her kin, and watches the many bodies burn.

She helps the remaining survivors onto the ships heading for Balar, speaks briefly with Gil-galad and Círdan, then sets out to the Feanorian camp. 

It isn’t until the sun rises fully that she realises that Maedhros and Maglor are nowhere to be seen. Panic fills her when she overhears some of their men talking about how they went searching for Elwing’s sons.

Quietly, she slips out of the camp and heads towards the waterfall where she had left the twins.

Her heart nearly stops when she sees that Maedhros and Maglor are trying to coax the twins out from their hiding spot.

She rushes forward, drawing her bow on the two brothers.

“They are children! I will not let you harm them.”

They take a step back.

Maglor raises his hands peaceably. 

_ “We will not harm them, of course. We only wish to keep them as an assurance that no one will retaliate against us. _

Doronil narrows her eyes. Maglor has slipped back into Quenya. She responds in kind, so as not to scare the twins.

_ “I will not let you just walk off with them. I will not hesitate to kill you, Kinslayer." _

_ “Then come with us. They are of Ñolofinwë’s blood. Consider taking care of them as in fulfilment of your oath of fealty to Ñolofinwë and Findekáno.” _

She hesitates for a moment, then relaxes her bow. 

“It’s okay to come out now,” she calls to the twins.

They creep out, hiding behind her and peering at the two brothers.

“What are your names?” Maglor asks gently.

They remain silent.

Maglor looks at Doronil, but she shrugs.

“I do not know their names. Elwing did not tell me.”

Maedhros huffs impatiently, but Maglor quells him with a look.

“Well we must call them something. Hmm... _ Elerondo _ for the one we saw in the cave first. And _ Elerossë _for the one playing in the waterfall.”

She brushes the wet hair out Elros’ face and places her arms around both twins.

In her heart, she vows to keep them safe. She has failed in her oaths and promises up until now, she will not let it happen again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah... uh it still gets worse from here. sorry?
> 
> Short chapter, but there is a new fic up within the same timeline about Doronil and the Second Kinslaying.


	4. Late FA: Raising the Twins, and the War of Wrath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warning for described canonical character suicide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is for both Day 1 of Feanorian Week "Maedhros" and the B2MEM prompt "finish a WIP fanwork"
> 
> also super shoutout to absynthe--minded/ArvenaPeredhel for the amazing Neo-Quenya glossary

Raising children was no small feat, but to raise them in secrecy and solitude while still imparting the rigorous education of the Noldor was nothing short of a miracle if you asked Doronil. The boys were bright, but they tried her patience like nothing ever had - even a day at court ended at some point. 

She was content to resume her scouting duties, ensuring that her little family would be safe.  _ Her little family _ . She wondered when she had begun to look at the pair of brothers and the twins as family instead of just a promise she had to keep. Still, she mused, it was hard not to forge new relationships when raising a child, let alone two.

She was still thinking about her paradigm shift as she entered the hidden glen where they lived when she caught the sweet notes of Maglor’s music and the sound of the twins arguing. Following the noise, she found the brothers attempting to teach the twins some of the court dances that were popular in Tirion before the Darkening.

Leaning against the stone archway of the courtyard, she immediately spotted the problem. “You need to start with your weight on your left foot so that you can step with your right foot, Elrond. If you start with your weight evenly distributed, you’ll be a half beat behind the music.”

All four elves looked over at her.

She spotted a look of relief on Maglor's face, and she continued, “Dancing is like sword-fighting, yes, but in this case you want to remain nimble and able to move, not solid with a wide base. Think more like training with daggers.”

Elros wrinkled his nose. “How would you know anyways,  _ atarnésa _ ? You would have to dance the part for  _ níssi _ .”

Doronil grinned. “Yes, and I did indeed learn the part for  _ níssi _ . But I had a wife, did I not? So then who dances the part of the  _ nér _ ?”

“You know both parts,” Elrond surmised, “And in couples with two  _ níssi  _ or two  _ néri _ , one learns both parts.”

At this, she shared a sly look with Maglor, then winked at the twins.

Laying aside her weapons and quiver, she crossed the courtyard to stand in front of Maedhros. 

She bowed at the waist, right hand crossing her chest to her left shoulder before extending out in front of her. "Prince Nelyafinwë, would you grant me the honour of a dance?"

Maedhros flushed slightly as Maglor chuckled. He hesitated for a moment, then placed his left hand in her outstretched palm.

"Makalaurë, play something fast would you?"

Maglor grinned widely and struck up a jaunty tune. 

Doronil spun Maedhros around the courtyard in a series of complex twirls and skips, clearly showing off for the boys.

When the music stopped, she took a step back and bowed to a slightly out of breath Maedhros. 

“Thank you for the dance, prince. It was truly an honour.”

He snorted. “Was it now? At least your wife is a good dancer, eh Káno?”

Doronil furrowed her brow, looking at Maglor. The colour had drained from his face, and she quickly realised that Maedhros was not talking to his brother, but rather was looking at a spot behind her. Dread sank in her chest, tightening her lungs. 

A moment passed, then Maglor spoke in a cheerful tone that belied the tense moment, “Alright boys, go get washed up for dinner.”

The twins left, scampering down the halls, arguing with one another about who the best dancer was.

Doronil touched Maedhros lightly on the arm. “Are you okay? Maedhros?”

He looked at her then, bewildered. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Then he turned and followed the boys down the hall.

Maglor came to stand next to her. “The last time one of my brothers began speaking to the dead as if they were still with us, we committed atrocities. This does not bode well.”

“There is evil afoot and much to speak of Makalaurë. The Valar have sent a great host to fight against the Black Foe, and Arafinwë is among them. I saw him briefly when I went to visit with Círdan while out scouting.”

“Perhaps we can direct this madness towards the Enemy, so that none else come to harm from our misdeeds.” 

* * *

Doronil was not among those who pursued Maedhros and Maglor when they slew the guards and took the Silmarils for their own. Rather, she overheard two of Arafinwë’s guards discussing how Manwë’s herald had just “let the two traitors go, as if their blades weren’t dripping with the blood of their kin thrice over already” and how the kinslaying must have driven them mad. 

She paused at the last comment, then rushed over to the guard and demanded to know what had happened. According to the tales being told, in the escape, Maedhros had been talking to the shade of Fingon that only he could see, and it was becoming popularly discussed in the camp that the Sons of Fëanor had gone mad with the weight of their misdeeds.

Without pausing to think of the ramifications of her impropriety, she burst into Arafinwë’s tent.

“Where did they go? Maedhros and Makalaurë, where did they go? Which way?”

“ _ Hánoanel _ , calm yourself-”

“Which way?!”

Wordlessly, Eönwë pointed south, down the coast. 

She fled from the tent, ignoring the cries behind her. She had to find them. Maedhros was not in his right mind, and if Makalaurë had agreed to this, then he wasn’t either. She had to find them and make sure they would not inflict any more damage.

Tracking their footsteps in the sand was easy enough. Soon she saw Maglor kneeling in the sand clutching a burned hand and staring at the sea, tears trailing down his face.

“Makalaurë?” she tentatively touched his shoulder.

“We are not worthy to touch them,” he whispered brokenly, “So I gave mine to the sea in the hopes that no one, not even us, can have the cursed thing ever again.”

She grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him to face her. “Makalaurë, where is Maedhros?”

He gestured behind him. “He went up the mountain.”

Doronil left him kneeling in the sand, running up the mountain as fast as she could. Near the top, she saw a tall figure stumbling ahead of her, and she called out his name. He turned, and she could see the tear tracks running down his face. He clutched the Silmaril tightly, the light starting to burn through his remaining hand.

“Do you think he could ever forgive me?” he called to her, “For the Oath, the Kinslaying at Alqualondë where I damned him, for my failure and his death?”

She took a cautious step forward, eyeing the fiery chasm behind him. “Whatever you have done Maedhros, he loved you. He loved you on the Ice, held onto that love, rescued you from torment, was willing to die for you.”

He took a deep breath and looked towards the sky. “I can’t forgive myself.”

And with that, he took a step backward and fell into the abyss.

She screamed and rushed forward, as if she could somehow catch him. All she could do was watch him fall into the lava. It was almost funny, how at peace he looked before he even hit the fiery liquid.

In a daze, she stumbled back down to the now empty beach - devoid of any signs that Maglor had even been there - and slowly made her way north. A group of Vanya scouts found her some hours later, collapsed a few miles outside the camp.

She roused briefly to hear Arafinwë’s voice from far away asking what had happened.

“I failed him,” she murmured, “I failed Káno.”

Her eyes flickered shut again. She was so very tired. A nap sounded like a good idea. She heard panicked voices around her, but they sounded like they were coming from under water. One thing came through clearly - “ _ She’s fading! _ ” - before blessed darkness claimed her.


End file.
